by Martina Cole
‘Who the fucking hell do you think you are, eh?’
Everyone could hear her and Joanie closed her eyes in distress at what she knew was to come.
‘You waltz in here dressed like mutton and fucking start on about my little Bethany! Like Kira is whiter than fucking white. Just because you ain’t flogging your arse no more don’t make you better than me, mate. I know all about you, love, remember that.’
‘You know my Kira wouldn’t do something like this, Mon, not unless she was told to. You know what she’s like.’
Joanie was trying hard to keep her temper but it was difficult.
Monika put her hands on her ample hips as she yelled, ‘Why don’t you just say it, Joanie? She’s six seconds behind everyone else, thick as shit, is that what you’re telling me at last? Only most people have already sussed that much out for themselves.’
She saw the look on Joanie’s face and regretted her words immediately.
‘My child is ill, Monika. She has alcoholic poisoning, she’s had a fucking fit. She might be a lot of things but she ain’t thick, right!’
Joanie’s hand was clenching into a fist and Monika remembered just in time what Joanie was capable of if upset enough.
They were both being observed by a large woman with long red hair and designer glasses. She wore a print trouser suit and black boots. They assumed she was a fellow visitor until she said in a carefully professional voice, ‘I am Tammy Jones, the social worker for this hospital. When you are finished perhaps we can have a word?’
Both women looked at her in utter shock.
It was Jon Jon who saved the day. Taking Monika firmly by the arm he marched her away, leaving Joanie to talk to the woman in peace.
Monika was terrified. Jon Jon must have heard the tail end of their row and she regretted her words big-time. But he had other fish to fry. Pushing her none too gently out of the hospital doorway, he barked, ‘Just fuck off, Monika. Get yourself and Bethany home.’
She didn’t need telling twice.
Jeanette used the respite from being watched to text Jasper. They had been texting each other since the incident and their love, as they saw it, was stronger than ever. As she received yet another declaration of his total devotion she felt as if she would burst with happiness.
There had to be a way . . . She was determined that there had to be some way they could build bridges and get back together. It was just a matter of seizing their opportunity.
Jon Jon thought he had it all sorted but she was not going to let him or anyone else dictate what she was going to do with her life.
She texted Jasper about the latest débâcle with Kira, beloved daughter - and pain in the arse most of the time. Though she didn’t write that down, naturally. She was just grateful the spotlight had been taken off her for a while.
Tammy Jones smiled at the well-dressed woman in front of her. Ensconced in her untidy little office with mugs of bitter coffee, she questioned Joanie about the incident.
‘My Kira is not stupid as such, in some ways she is as bright as a button, but she has learning difficulties, you see.’
Tammy Jones saw all right. Joanie was desperate to get herself out of this office and away from someone she saw as on a par with the police.
‘She’s just easily led, that’s all.’
Joanie was getting desperate now.
‘I want to go back to my daughter - she needs me. She can’t function without me and I need to be with her.’
That Joanie was earnest Tammy had no doubt. That she herself also had to deal with a baby with two broken legs and an elderly woman staff suspected was being sexually abused by her own son, meant Kira rated quite low on Tammy’s scale. She would write up a report and leave it at that. There’d be a follow-up visit in a week or two just to be on the safe side, but it seemed they had all learned a valuable lesson.
The fact that Joanie was a prostitute didn’t bother her; the child was well fed and well nurtured. There were no visible signs of abuse. This really did seem like a childish prank gone wrong.
Joanie left thankfully a little while later and made her way back to Kira. She was shaking inside and out, and when she got her hands on Bethany there was going to be hell to pay.
Monika could thank God that Kira was not being placed on an At Risk register or subject to visits from a social worker, turning up all hours of the day and night. Because if that had happened Joanie would have had to sort Monika out once and for all, and the mood she was in now that would have been something the police really would have had a field day with.
Jon Jon was sitting with his sister. Joanie watched him carefully giving her sips of water. She looked awful. Seconds later Tommy bustled in, and the three of them sat beside Kira as she lay there, feeling ill and sick but more loved than she had ever been in her life.
When Paulie came in a while later it seemed natural for them all to be there together, though to outsiders they made for a strange-looking tableau.
Bethany was a worried child. Her mother had half murdered her over the drinking business and she was sore and upset. She liked Kira, loved her even, and knew deep inside that she should never have given her the drink.
Now Bethany had a hangover, and her stomach hurt. Everyone was annoyed with her so she bunked off school and went back home where she put on makeup in her mother’s bedroom and sipped from the glass of Bacardi and Coke she had poured herself from Monika’s drink stash. Hair of the dog was what her mother always said sorted her out after a drinking binge. And as Monika had a drinking binge every day Bethany knew what she was talking about.
The house was dirty, but that was her fault as her mother had handed the housework over to her a few years earlier. Clothes and bedding were always slightly soiled here; Monika only did things like that for them when she was sober and lucid enough to get her head together. Now that her daytime hours were not taken up with going to Joanie’s since the quarrel she had started to go to the pub so Bethany knew she had the house to herself. Unlike Kira, she enjoyed the feeling that alcohol gave her though she was determined not to drink too much ever again, just enough to make her feel like laughing. To take away the pain she felt inside.
Kira had a whole network of people taking care of her. Bethany had no one really except Monika who at best was a haphazard mother, whose sporadic affection for her daughter was outweighed by her own need to drink to blot out the life she lived.
Today the alcohol made Bethany cry, but even that felt better than nothing. She stared desolately round the unkempt room and the tears flowed even faster. And as she cried she sipped at the glass of Bacardi and Coke more and more often. Like it did for her mother, it deadened the pain.
Tommy was still in mortal fear over what had happened to Kira. Joseph listened to him going on and on until finally he had had enough. It was bad enough having to endure him lumbering around the place, knocking things over with his bulk and wittering on about that bloody Brewer family. Joseph wanted out. He wanted to be with his girlfriend and her family, to enjoy all the benefits that they could offer him.
And the benefits were legion. The house was Della’s, he had found out that much. She had a few quid from her old man’s insurance, she was a lovely cook and enjoyed a few drinks with her game of Bingo.
She was also a prude and the few times they had had sex it had been over quickly with the minimum of fuss. She was a fit mate for him all right; the last one he had acquired had been after it all the time. She had worn him out. Sex was over-rated if you asked him, especially at their age.
Della’s house was bright and cheerful, she had Sky TV and her grandchildren kept the house full of laughter.
What was he waiting for?
He stared once more at his son and felt the loathing rise up inside him. He had to get out of here. He felt like he was in jail, trapped.
‘Shut up for a minute and listen to me, will you!’
Little Tommy faced his father. His pudgy hands were occupied drying a teacup and it
looked incongruous in his meaty fist, like a child’s toy.
‘I’m moving out, Tommy.’
His son stared at him for long seconds before saying, ‘What do you mean, moving out?’
Joseph sighed.
‘It’s time you learned to look after yourself. I’m moving in with me girlfriend.’
Joseph waited for a reaction but was amazed when Little Tommy merely grinned and said, ‘Good for you. When do you think you’ll be going?’
Joseph couldn’t answer him for a moment. Of all the things he had expected, his son’s obvious joy and genuine happiness were not among them. What the hell would the boy do without Joseph to order him around?
‘Will you be OK, Tommy?’
His father had never asked him that question before and he felt a terrible loneliness settle on him as it occurred to him that they had been stuck with each other for too long.
Far too long.
He smiled brightly.
‘’Course I will, silly. When do I get to meet the lucky lady?’
Joseph stalled him then, backtracking slightly.
‘All in good time. Let me get out of here first.’
Tommy guessed that his father had not mentioned him much, if at all, and was sad again at two lives spent so closely linked and yet so far apart. It was laughable really.
‘Well, your washing is nearly done, and I’ll have the ironing out of the way in the blink of an eye. I assume you’re eager to get going. Is she nice?’
Joseph shrugged.
‘She’s all right. Nice enough, I suppose.’
‘Any family?’
The question was innocent enough so Little Tommy was not ready for the answer when it came.
‘Mind your own fucking business, you nosy fucker! Any little girls, you mean. I know you and how your mind works.’
Tommy shook his head.
‘I never meant anything like that and you know it.’
He could hear the strain in his own voice.
‘I am happy for you, just for you. I think it would be good for you to be with someone else.’
He was nearly crying now as he bellowed, ‘Why do you hate me so bloody much! What have I ever done to you?’
It said a lot for Tommy and his new relationship with his father that he felt he could challenge him like this. Before Kira and Joanie had come into his life he had taken whatever came his way, whether it was abuse or his father’s complete indifference. Now he stared at this man who had given him life and wondered how the hell they could be related. But his father was ignoring him, something he could keep up for days, weeks even.
Joseph carried on drinking his tea oblivious to his son’s hurt. He had said what he had to say, now he would make his arrangements. He looked round the poky little kitchen and thought of the comfortable home he would soon be ensconced in.
The promise of a new life brought a rare smile to Joseph’s face.
Paulie watched the young girl as she sauntered into his massage parlour. Of medium height, plump, with natural blonde hair and large blue eyes, she would be a magnet for some of his customers. She smiled at him and said quietly, ‘Can I speak to whoever is in charge, please?’
She was polite, he would give her that.
‘What do you want, love?’
She smiled again.
‘I need a job.’
He could feel the confidence coming off her in waves.
‘And how old are you then?’
He was smiling now. The girl smiled back as if expecting the question.
‘I know I don’t look it but I’m nearly twenty. I have me birth certificate with me.’
She was disarming in her semblance of honesty. She also had a slight accent, but he couldn’t place where it was from.
‘Come through to the office.’
She sat opposite his desk without being asked and crossed her legs. It was the childish plumpness that was her attraction and she knew it. Her dress code was simple and sexy. She looked like a sixth-former. Black skirt, a tad too short, and a white blouse unbuttoned to show creamy flesh. Tanned legs and high platform shoes.
But it was her eyes that held the real key to her personality. She looked like she knew too much, and Paulie knew those eyes would attract the punters in droves. She looked far too innocent . . . until you looked into those eyes. He had a feeling she better than anyone knew the effect she had on men.
She was literally sitting on a gold mine.
‘What’s your name - and I mean your real name, not the name you are using today, do you get my drift?’
She nodded.
‘Liz Parker, but I go under the name of Angel.’
‘I’m sure you do. Now, have you any idea what this job actually entails?’
She smiled, unabashed.
‘I know exactly what the job entails - I’ve been doing it since I was thirteen. Would you like me to give you a taster, free like?’
Those eyes were harder now. He could see her calculating the main chance. She must want the job badly to offer to audition for it. Yet he knew a lot of the other owners made girls audition for them. It was a free blowjob, and most men wouldn’t turn one down.
She was still smiling that smile of hers. Now it was his turn. But it was a nasty smile, and she picked up on it immediately.
‘I wouldn’t touch you, love, with a barge pole. Now show me your birth certificate and some other form of identification and you and me might come to some arrangement. But it will not be any arrangement that means bodily contact, OK?’
Her child-like good looks were marred now by the hard expression on her face. She opened her bag, a snide
Burberry, and placed the required documentation on the desk. They didn’t speak again until she saw him going to photocopy the documents.
‘Here, what do you think you’re doing?’
He laughed at the temerity of her.
‘Saving me own arse, darling. Anyone questions me about you, I need some kind of back up.’
‘You won’t get questioned, Mr Martin.’
He smiled once more. It was ‘Mr Martin’ now. She knew who he was after initially misreading the situation. He admired the way she changed her approach so quickly. She was the good girl now, all polite and looking for a job. A real job as opposed to a blowjob.
He wanted to laugh but he didn’t.
‘Empty your handbag.’
She clutched the bag to her chest.
‘What for?’
He had thrown her completely and he was enjoying himself.
‘Just empty the bag out. Now.’
She was still clutching it to her chest.
‘My bag is private!’
‘Not in my parlour it ain’t, love, and you better get used to that fact.’
He took the bag from her forcibly and tipped the contents on to his desk. She was vocal in her anger and he turned on her quickly.
‘Shut the fuck up!’
The usual makeup, condoms and assorted pens fell out of the bag, as did a crack pipe and a few rocks in an HSBC moneybag. There was also ecstasy and what he judged to be amyl nitrate. But it was the six-inch switchblade that annoyed him most.
‘Quite the little pharmacist.’
She was deadly white now.
‘Who were you going to stab, love, anyone I know?’
He was holding the knife in his hand now as if he was weighing it.
‘It’s for protection. I’ve been working the pavement. You know what that’s like.’
Her voice was normal now and he almost felt sorry for her. All her bravado gone, she was just a young girl who was terrified.
‘Not personally, I don’t. Now listen to me, love. Your first mistake was offering me a blowjob. I could swallow that one, if you’ll pardon the pun, but there is no way drugs or weapons make their way in here. Not that kind of junk anyway. Now sling your fucking hook.’
She didn’t move. Instead she looked at him and for the first time he saw a spark of the girl she coul
d have been if she hadn’t embraced the life so early. She had similar eyes to his younger daughter. That knowing, childish look of an adolescent girl practising her charms on the nearest available male, usually their father.
‘Please, Mr Martin, I really need this job. I would never have brought anything into work with me. I’ve been in the know for a long time and I swear that nothing would have made its way in here. Nothing.’
